Bebuquin by Carl Einstein

Author:Carl Einstein [Einstein, Carl]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Trashface Books
Published: 2011-02-28T03:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

A blue feather of Euphemia’s hat drowned itself sparklingly in the green chartreuse.

Bebuquin goggled with his left leg into the corner of the bar where Heinrich Lippenknabe introspectively arranged an orchid in the bronzed navel of a whore and doused it with brandy.

Who is the father? the barmaid screamed.

The beam of the electric lamp penetrated through her toes to the knees and danced merrily backwards over the crystal flasks and the coolers. (That usually polite electric light!)

No one, stared Euphemia with her crossed stalked eyes. I got him in a dream.

Crap, said Heinrich Lippenknabe, she means a useless contraceptive.

In the first place I hadn’t an idea who the father might he. Sure, it’s all the same. (Euphemia looked frightened.)

Maybe it was Böhm? asked Bebuquin.

Euphemia screamed out.

He is always coming to nurse the baby, and has such a milky skull since he died, he uses his entrails, for which he has no further need, as a zither and sings the theorem of Pythagoras with feeling. He said the kid must become an intellectual.

Yes, your embryo wrote a philosophical work, and wasn’t he conferred doctor at birth? and isn’t the whole story called “The Destroyed Umbilical Cord, or, the principium individuationis”?

Yes, Euphemia whispered, he has already renounced the world and is becoming holy, completely without desires, dirty and silent. Apart from that he has sensitive skin which changes colour incessantly. Couldn’t one use him for advertising signs. It would save on the coloured bulbs.

The alogical grows, the alogical conquers, it will not let up.

Bebuquin balanced on a bobbling barstool.

That is why, ladies, so many go mad. We crave fiction, positivism destroys.

The barmaid knelt, enraptured among the ice pails.

O Lord, we conceptualise too materially.

Her lace dress glittered around her, ornament of dreams.The coolers, holy vessels of the unspeakable.

We will make no more sacrifices, Bebuquin screamed into the street. The sublime has got lost. You criticise the miracle: the miracle makes sense only when incarnated, but you have destroyed all the forces that transcend the human.

I want the spirit to become visible, groaned Heinrich Lippenknabe.

The nothing should materialise itself (the woman with the orchid in her navel).

Böhm stood among them.

He spoke, saying:

Natural law ought to be soused in alcohol until it comprehends that there are irrational situations, until it grasps that lawfulness is for the weak voting democrat. Law cannot achieve spiritual realisation. It hangs senselessly on the nail of a bad mathematical axiom.

As soon as something is recognised by the law, that proves the thing is outlived as experience. Law is the past, subjected to death.

Sic. We lack exceptions.

Too few people have the courage to speak complete rubbish. Frequently repeated nonsense becomes the integrating moment of our thinking. Given a certain niveau of intelligence one is hardly at all interested in correctness and reasonableness.

Reason turns too much that is great and sublime into the grotesque and the impossible. With reason we destroyed God, the all-encompassing idiosyncrasy.

What right has reason there? It sits.

On Unity.

There sits the vulgarity.

There are so many worlds which have

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